


Truth Serum

by 994527



Category: Formula 1 RPF, MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:45:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/994527/pseuds/994527
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Motorskink prompt: Truth Serum.</p><p>The idea is that I'm going to write a collection, characters tagged are those I have in mind/already written. A mix of moments, conversations, whole little stories, interviews maybe...funny or not or anything in between, we'll see how it goes...but in each one someone is affected by a dire need to tell the truth ;)</p><p>Note: Not every chapter has a 'relationship' in it. The chapter titles name the main protagonists, the tags are separate :)</p><p>Contents:</p><p>1. Valentino/Marc - "Like This?" (M)<br/>2. James/Niki - "Marvellous" (G)<br/>3. Lewis/Fernando - "Rain" (G)<br/>4. Seb/Kimi - "Siege" (G)<br/>5. Dani/Marc - "Emergency Marquez-finding" (G)<br/>6. Lewis/Nico - "Oops But Not Oops!" (T)<br/>7. Pol/Scott/Jorge - "Canine Thievery Protocol" (G)<br/>8. Jenson/Ron - "History Repeating Itself" (G)<br/>9. Dan/JEV - "Hungover Back-Garden Salsa" (G)<br/>10. Jenson/Seb - "Just For Fun" (G)<br/>11. Vale/Dani/Marc - "Wakey Wakey" (T)<br/>12. Fernando/Marc - "Mojito" (E)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Valentino/Marc - "Like This?"

Valentino had been feeling a bit…‘off’ all morning, by which he meant the time he’d been in bed, and when he’d finally made it to hospitality for breakfast, walked in as normal and sat down as normal, he’d realised what it was. The things coming out of his mouth weren’t the things he was intending them to be, and that was worrying.

He’d sat down, ordered eggs and something else and a coffee, and then announced to a very beautiful member of staff that he’d ‘watched a film about rape last night.’ Which sounded much worse than it was, and wasn’t the kind of thing you shared with a waitress at 1036am in Yamaha Hospitality at Le Mans. Or, apparently, it now was.

He’d tried to explain that _that_ disgusted him too, that he ‘watched it for Monica Bellucci’, which was true, but he’d ended up again saying something slightly different.

“I like Monica Bellucci, but she got raped.”

 _WHY._

He took a few calming breaths, face red, horror mirroring hers, and waited for her to leave, which was very quickly, and concentrated on eating and enjoying until he’d made it out into daylight again and headed down for a team meeting, where Jorge was waiting with the team.

“Morning.”

“Morning. I like your hair.” _Face palm._

“Thanks…?” The Mallorcan looked at him as though he was completely insane. “It’s the same as everyday…”

“I know. I like it.” He was trying to say – well, no - he was _thinking_ ‘your hair looks better nowadays’, but he certainly hadn’t intended to say anything out loud. _I should just say nothing, for the rest of my life._ “And your…facial hair is great, too.”

There was a deathly silence as every other pair of eyes in the room – of every team member at the race – turned to stare at him.

“What?”

“Now you’re older. You’re handsome. I wouldn’t-”

“Ok.” Lin coughed and tried to move past it, Jorge still staring at Vale and freaked out, appreciative but wary. “Let’s move on. Le Mans. Traditionally a circuit that goes well f-“

Valentino coughed and sighed. “I’m thirsty.”

“Ok…Get some water. Over there.” The older man frowned at the interruption and tried to continue, sharing a look with his other rider and shrugging slightly. “So, Le Mans…traditionally a circuit-“

“No. I want orange juice.”

The Managing Director put down the paper he was looking at and sighed. “Ok, get some fucking orange juice then. What is wrong with you today?”

Vale tried to reply ‘I don’t know’ before hearing, “I don’t like grapefruit juice.”

“Well…fine. There’s orange juice. There. Get some, sit down, and shut up. Please.”

Vale could see and appreciate the sarcastically friendly-but-irritated tone on his face but could do nothing to really communicate that. “I will. Then you can tell us about Le Mans, for those of us who have never ridden here before. Which is no one.”

Lin’s eyes widened and he nodded. “I will. Calm down. Did you take a teenager pill this morning?”

“I had eggs and told the hospitality about Monica…” He could feel it coming and tried desperately not to say it. “…Bellucci…and…the…RAPE!”

Everyone looked around at each other for a few seconds before Vale found himself getting to his feet, realising he _had_ to get out, staring at everyone in turn, Jorge’s face especially horrified, trying to make excuses but eventually just giving up and running out the door shouting “I’M BORED!”, leaving laughter and anger and a serious amount of confusion in his wake. He made it out to fresh air and took a few gulps of it in before staring wide-eyed at himself in a window reflection and then grimacing slightly as he saw who was walking towards him, the peace of being alone about to be complicated.

_Of all people…please, please no._

He bit his lip and considered running, but the HRC rider had already seen him. Because if he was going to have to tell the absolute truth all the time, that could be ok: some of it would be strange, some of it would sound wrong, but none of it would be horrendously offensive or damaging. Except what he was desperately trying to keep hidden. The one thing he was trying to ignore, in his entire life, was now walking towards him.

“Hi.” Marc smiled and nodded at him as he got closer. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” _Wow that’s actually what I wanted to say!_ “How are you, baby?” _And…it’s gone._

Marc stopped and stared at the word, flash of shock and embarrassment quickly smoothed out. “Er…I’m ok thanks. Feeling good. No one loves this track, but…weather should be nice.”

“Great! If it’s sunny, will you take your shirt off?”

Marc’s eyes widened further and he smiled as he shrugged, the same ‘WHAT THE FUCK’ expression covered quickly. “Er…maybe?”

“I would like you to wear less clothes.”

It was, he’d realised, completely uncontrollable. The truth was all that was going to happen, and his face was going to remain that red.

“Right. Why?”

The Honda rider’s confusion, horror and wide-eyed shock had been replaced by a very cheeky twinkle in his eye, looking down at himself and back up at the Italian with something that could almost be described as _fluttering eyelashes_. Valentino stared at him and gulped, the air between them suddenly charged with _something_ , not having expected anything else except horror.

“Because you turn me on. Sometimes, I see you in your leathers and I want to rip them off you. I like how you’re looking at me.”

Marc’s calmer, flirtier response didn’t fare well in the bluntness of the answer, and he went bright red and his eyes widened again. “WHAT?!”

Vale stared at him and then started shrugging, defensive yelling firing back at the younger man. “YEAH! OK?! I WANT TO RIP THEM OFF YOU, BITE YOUR BEAUTIFUL LITTLE ASS AND JUST MAKE YOU SCREAM!”

Marc’s jaw dropped completely open and the colour, previously bright red, drained from his face. “W…w-“

“I’m just being honest.”

He stared and stared and stared until eventually he gulped and nodded, trying to forget about it. “Right….good joke...” It trailed off in a cloud of embarrassed shame and they stared at each other for a few seconds before Valentino carried on.

“I’m not joking, I WANT TO RIDE YOU.”

“Stop it!”

“No. I want to ride you, and make you scream, and grab handfuls of your hair and watch the muscles in your back move-”

“STOP!”

“YOU’RE NOT WALKING AWAY. I WILL KEEP GOING!”

The younger rider froze, stricken with the realisation that that was true, and his feet seemed to be trying to leave as horrific curiosity held him in place. “Please don’t carry on.”

“Then go! I can’t help it!”

“Just stop being weird!”

“I’M NOT BEING WEIRD, I’M BEING HONEST!”

Another stand-off before Vale sighed, looked at the floor and then locked eyes with Marc.

“I’m not joking. Something’s wrong with me today…I keep… _telling the truth_ …” He said it like he was disgusted by the sheer idea. “So, sorry…but also…I’m free for a few hours now. So if you want to take me up on the offer…” _Oh, God._

“I don’t.” 

_Oh, God._ The HRC rider stared another couple of seconds before finally managing to get his feet to work and walking off to the left, eyes still wide and trained on Valentino, almost bumping into things on the way, shock or horror or delicious curiosity winning, Vale wasn’t sure. 

The Italian watched him go and sighed. _That’s that then._ He shrugged to himself once Marc had gone and went back to his motorhome, collapsing into the middle of the bed and waiting for his brain to process the shame, before Uccio appeared a while later and stuck his head inside.

“Still happening?”

“The honesty thing? YES.”

“What happened now?”

“I told Marquez I wanted to _ride_ him and make him scream.”

“Is that true?”

“YES! BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING CHOICE DO I? IT’S TRUE I SAID IT AND IT’S TRUE THAT I WANT IT SO IF THAT’S A PROBLEM MAYBE YOU SH-“

There was a knock in the background and both men stared at each other before turning back to the door and seeing Marc’s head pop into view.

“Oh! Hi…sorry I didn’t know you had guests…”

Uccio was about to reply before Valentino sat straight up and shook his head. “He’s not a guest, he's a friend. He will leave when I tell him to.” The Yamaha rider turned to his friend and made a little ‘shoo’ motion with his hands. “Leave!”

The second Tavullian looked from one rider to the other before the earlier conversation caught up with him and he realised Marc probably wanted to clear the air. _Even though he will keep getting the same unfortunate honesty, maybe I should leave._ He shrugged and smiled at the HRC rider as he walked out before shutting the door behind himself and walking off. _Clearing the air. Definitely a good idea, if he can get any sense out of him._

Valentino stared at the slightly timid figure in the doorway and patted the bed next to himself. “You came.”

“I did.”

“Hopefully you’ll be doing that more.”

Marc halted his approach and smiled with an attached ‘eek’. “What is wrong with you?!”

“I don’t know. But I’m not joking. I’m being accidentally completely honest with everything I say. So get over here and take off your clothes.”

“Stop it.”

“No!” Valentino got to his feet and stood in front of him. “Why are you here?”

Marc stayed silent, looking down, before eventually managing to bring his gaze up to meet the Italian’s. “I don’t know.”

“You here to talk, or to fuck?”

“I’m here…because I’m curious what’s going on.”

“Well curiosity is a good thing. So…let’s do it. Come on. You want me to do it for you?”

“Do what?!”

“Take your clothes off!”

The irritation of the nonsensical attitude seemed to make the younger rider boil over slightly and he angrily ripped off his t shirt and threw it on the floor. “I can do it myself, thank you!”

“Good!” Vale followed suit and they stared at each other for a few seconds before he pointed at Marc’s jeans. “Off. Take them off. Take everything off, get on the bed, and …”

“And?”

“And look at me like you want me.”

Marc took in a few shallow breaths before shrugging, still somehow intensely angry at not being in control, and ripped his jeans off, and boxers, and socks, and stood there insolently with a big shrug of ‘well, great, now what?’

Vale stared and let his eyes run over each bit of him. “Wow. You are so beautiful. I just want to lick you.”

Some sort of confidence came back to the HRC rider as he saw the expression on Vale’s face and he smiled slightly, amused by the realisation that the Italian really couldn’t help saying what he did. “Be my guest…”

“Really?” 

_Like a kid in a candy store._ “Yeah.” 

“I bet you taste really good.”

 _He definitely can’t help it._ “Try me, then. Come on!” He smiled at the look on the Yamaha rider’s face and started tugging on his jeans button. Vale watched, looking down at the strangely detached scene, shocked and too overwhelmed by how the ridiculous things coming out of his mouth were actually _working_ , before he snapped out of it and obliged him, leaving them both naked and staring.

The Italian leant forward and watched as Marc didn’t move.

“I thought you would move.”

“You’ve got me this far, I’d be a coward if I left now.”

“You’re not a coward. I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Ok.”

He took another couple of seconds of enamoured _WOW_ before leaning in and pressing their lips together, one hand finding its way into Marc’s hair and the other round his waist, pulling them together and back towards the bed as the HRC rider _still_ didn’t seem to want to run away.

“I want to be on top.”

“Ok.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Marc smiled into the kiss and pulled him down on top of him as they reached the bed, running a hand down his back and squeezing an ass cheek hard enough to elicit a yelp. “I don’t care.”

“Holy shit!”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

The words, now much closer to his ear and punctuated by breaths and little moans as the friction between them grew, sent an electric shock down Valentino’s spine.

“I can’t shut up, but I thought you’d never ask.”

“I am asking.” Marc pulled his mouth away, fully, and grinned, evil twinkle in his eyes again as he turned over and looked back at him, impossibly tempting. “You said you wanted to ride me. Like this?”

“Like this!”

Marc laughed and looked back straight ahead, just waiting, as he felt the bed move and the Italian’s hands move onto his hips.

“I’m worried I’m going to hurt you.”

The world champion hung his head slightly and then looked back, bored of the truth and the waiting but impossibly turned on by the situation. “Well then…that’s your challenge. Just fucking _try_.”

They locked eyes for a second, Valentino eventually smiling deliciously evilly and nodding, everything just completely insane but normal at the same time.

_I like this kid._

He finally moved again and did what he’d said he’d wanted to do; sinking his teeth into Marc’s ass, gently but not too gently, feeling the sheet pulled over the bed as the younger rider’s hands grabbed handfuls of it and moaned.

_And I didn’t say that out loud...!_

“I like you.”

_FUCK!_


	2. James/Niki - "Marvellous"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is less 'Truth Serum' than the last one and more a journey of personal honesty and self belief haha, but still. Don't think I'm done with the Hunt/Lauda with this, though. Not yet. ;)

The rain was pouring down, as he’d been fearing. He was trying to tell himself that that gave him an advantage – Niki’s accident had happened in the rain, so despite everything about their style of driving saying the opposite, James was trying to believe he had the advantage – but it wasn’t really getting through to him.

_I’m not afraid._

He lit another Rothmans and looked out from the hotel doorway up at the sky. 

_Much._

He knew he deserved it. Everything that had happened hadn’t changed that, because Niki knew the risks, just like he did. And no matter the heroics of coming back at Monza – which was unimaginable to James – he’d been through Hesketh folding, fuel conspiracies, oil coolers, disqualifications…and politics. He’d been the one hanging on for the phone call from Marlboro to tell him where his career was going. Niki had been taken in by Ferrari and _trusted_ to do the job.

_And that’s what gets me. McLaren didn’t even want me, but Ferrari wanted him, enough to let him have that contract clause. But I’m not afraid._

_Liar._

And so there they were, rolling the dice once for something that should never hang on one moment. But it did, and James was happy enough with that.

But not the rain.

He took in a long, satisfying drag of smoke and looked up as he heard his name from just inside the doors.

“That’ll kill you before the rain will.”

 _Typical._ The Brit looked at the Rat and smiled, nodding in disapproving agreement. “Typical. Life is for living, death is for dying.”

“So you want to mix those two things together?”

“We all mix those two things together every day, Niki. I live how I want to live.”

“And in the rain? You drive how you want to drive?” The Austrian stared and started to smile. “You think?”

“I drive like the champion should, so we’ll see.” _Can he see my nerves?_

“I guess we will. On the track.” The Ferrari driver motioned at the car waiting for him and walked to the edge of the cover from the rain, looking back before dashing to the door. “I look forward to it!”

The McLaren driver watched him go and took another drag before sighing to himself and eyeing the rain once more. “I’m sure you do.”

He smoked another 3 before downing the last of his coffee and pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders.

_Japan. 4 women, 8 packets of Rothmans and a World Championship._

That was the goal. Steps 1 and 2 were complete, or near enough, Step 3 was closer than it had been before and maybe would be again.

_And the chances you take make you the man you are._

He got into his own car and got to the paddock in almost silence, an impossible rarity in his life, before the door opened and he was back in the spotlight of the occasion, Niki still somehow right there, looking at him knowingly, smug at the way he seemed to be so much more in control.

 _I’m going to beat you._ James nodded at him and smiled across the distance, unable to stop himself saying it, something suddenly changing and the words laced with more belief and less hope. “I’m going to beat you.”

He waved at him as an afterthought and put another cigarette in his mouth as a journalist approached him and started asking him a question, James trying hard to hear him properly above the noise, the Austrian’s response lost in the melee as a puff of smoke escaped with the words.

_“Well, absolutely. I think everybody would prefer to decide this championship in the dry, but I think it probably gives me something of an advantage.”_

_“Advantage?”_

_“Well, Niki didn’t like driving in the rain any more than the rest of us, but certainly not now after the accident. I hope he’s more afraid than I am. And I am afraid. It’s really much too dangerous to go racing in this weather.”_

_“You don’t think you should race?”_

_“Absolutely not. But of course no one would believe that.”_

He moved on and found himself in the McLaren pits, smarting slightly at the accidental honesty, answering questions somewhat mutely in between cigarettes, trying to keep the mood light and explain his adventures from the night before, truth coming out of his mouth for reasons he couldn’t fathom, faces surprised, because for the first time in his life James Hunt had refused last orders, left the bar and gone back to his room, alone.

Because for the first time in his life, he actually had the chance to achieve _everything_ he’d wanted since working like a dog in his garage over his Mini, the Mini that didn’t even have windows because he couldn’t afford them, the one he’d seen as the Start. He’d almost stopped smoking, he’d worked hard, he’d won races, he’d made it to Formula 1. And the image was much less important than that. _And that IS the truth._

_Maybe I’ve actually already done most of what I need to do, and today is just the final piece of the jigsaw._

A flash of red appeared in front of the garage and Niki’s face was again in front of his.

“How are the nerves?”

James smiled, fully, feeling the effect of that train of thought, and nodded, truthful again when he sparred with his rival, today for the first time in a long time, feeling the same strange zing go through him, words coming out not because of how they sounded but because they were true. “The nerves are marvellous. How’s the face?”

The Austrian looked at him, not offended, _never_ offended by what came out of James’ mouth, regardless of what it was or who it was directed at, and something in his eyes changed. The McLaren driver watched and nodded at him slightly as he saw it dawn on him.

 _Marvellous. And you mean it, you fucker._ “Good. I will speak to you later when I’m World Champion.”

James smiled and nodded, perfectly aware of what had just _not_ been said in return, as was the Rat, and shrugged at him. 

“You’re already a World Champion, Niki. Today is my turn.”

_And I do mean it._


	3. Lewis/Fernando - "Rain"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set on Saturday night, Interlagos 2012.

_Come on, RAIN._

He knew it was the best chance he was going to have, really, because he was good in the wet. And he had no right – not really – to be in this position in the first place. But Ferrari, regardless of anything else, had made a car that was very reliable. And so, time after time, after he’d watched McLaren and Red Bull throw everything away, he’d been there. And that was worthy of a championship, because it was a driver’s championship, and he _knew_ he’d been the better driver. _Maybe except-_

His train of thought was cut off as he heard the adjacent balcony door open and someone step outside, listening for a clue as to who it was, no one having appeared there over the preceding evenings, although he knew a lot of the drivers, from all teams, had seemingly been put on the same floor. _Which is an oversight._

He listened to someone dial on a phone before the ringing started, São Paulo at midnight not enough to hide the sound, and listened even more intently when a familiar, English voice started to talk.

“It’s me.”

_“Oh, so you’re going to call me, now?”_

“I’ve been busy. You know that. That’s why this is meant to work so well.”

_“Or maybe why it doesn’t work at all.”_

“I’m not in the mood for this.”

_“Ok, well I’m not in the mood for you…so good luck tomorrow. Be safe, and call me again when you actually want to talk to me.”_

Fernando cringed as he heard Lewis swear in response, Nicole evidently having punctuated that last line with putting the phone down. 

_Ouch._

Lewis started to mutter a few things, to himself, and the Ferrari driver found himself only able to hear certain words: _fuck, why, don’t even, but I try…_ Eventually he decided he had to let him know he was there.

“Lewis.”

“Fuck!” A head craned around the divide and eyes widened as he saw who it was. “Oh, hey man. How much did you hear?”

The McLaren driver looked embarrassed but not unhappy to see him.

“Enough. You ok? Things not ok with…her?”

Lewis popped back around to stand up comfortably, conversation easily possible despite not being able to see each other, and sighed. “Hmm. Not great. It’s…I don’t know. I get everything she says. It must be annoying when she sees me tweeting and all that stuff and I don’t send _her_ messages. But it’s…that’s part of the job. That’s not a personal thing. I mean…it is, but it’s who I am, as a racing driver. You know?” 

Fernando thought it through and tried to follow the English. “Yeah, I know what you mean. My wife was like that. Nicer, I think…but same problems.”

“I just…” There were a few seconds of silence before another sigh, the younger man deciding the ignore the ‘nicer’. “I just wish she understood what this is.”

“And what is this?”

Lewis stared out at the inky black skyline and frowned as he thought it through. His brain hadn’t realised until that question that it was _Fernando_ he was talking to. He’d distracted himself enough to just hear a Spanish voice on a balcony in São Paulo and not think it through. _And I strangely want to tell him everything._

“This is my last race for McLaren.”

There was a pause before an ironic and slightly sarcastic “we’ve all been through it” echoed over to him.

“Yeah, I know.” Lewis smiled to himself and went back over 2007. “Believe me, I remember that too.”

“I’m sure.” The Ferrari driver laughed and Lewis found himself smiling along with him. “Last race for McLaren. It’s important. But she must understand this?”

“She does.” _Why on Earth am I telling him._ “She just doesn’t know what that is. I mean…she’s intelligent, really smart, beautiful…but she doesn’t get this. Because she…I don’t know. McLaren, São Paulo, me…it’s just a lot, in one weekend.”

“You regret anything?”

“No. I don’t regret moving. But…have you ever been up to Morumbi Cemetery?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to go up there, on Monday morning. And I’m going to sit, and pray, and tell him everything I want to say.”

There was a silence before the words came back softer.

 _Which ‘Him’?_ “You know he was just a man...”

Lewis looked up at the sky and splayed his fingers, palm up, as he felt the first drops of rain. “He was.” Fernando did exactly the same thing on the other side of the barrier before the McLaren driver carried on. “But he stood for something. You know I believe in God…”

_And his timing._

“I do…er, know, yes…”

“And I believe there is a reason behind everything. It just started to rain, you know? There is a reason why my car kept stopping this year. There’s a reason why Mercedes approached me. Because I realised, somewhere after Canada, that McLaren is important to me. But I don’t fit here. Not really. It will always be special to me, but…I have tattoos and I like Tupac. You had long hair…you know what I mean?”

There was a short pause as the Spaniard seemed to think it through. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” The shadow moved and Fernando’s head popped round the divide. “I think someone just came outside downstairs. You want to come over?”

The Stevenage native took a deep breath and looked up again as the sky suddenly seemed to burst, grinning as the rain hit him and nodding despite being invisible to the Spaniard who had disappeared again, voice louder over the new noise, signal all he needed. “Yeah, ok!”

He shut the door behind himself and walked out to the corridor before lifting his hand to knock, as the door was pulled open early.

“Come in.”

“Thanks.” He went in and followed Fernando over to the two sofas lined up on each side of the sliding doors, taking one each, different reflections. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you.”

“You can talk to me. I think. Is ok now, we can talk?”

“I think now we can talk.” Lewis nodded and accepted the drink he was offered. “I think now we’re good enough to go to war on the track and keep the peace in private, yeah?” _Although my mouth seems far ahead of my sense in this conversation._

“I agree.” The Ferrari driver smiled and nodded. “Exactly. So…is a question of Senna.”

Lewis nodded again and shrugged, used to the feeling of bearing his thoughts by this point, enjoying the freedom of turning his filter off. “He was just a man. But he was also more, everyone knows that. And he was my hero. I grew up watching him, that’s how all this started. And I got to Formula 1, in a McLaren, and we, me and you, fought for the title, against Ferrari and Kimi. And we had our own war, you know? Like they did. But I think I forgot that we’re in a different world. We’re in a Red Bull world now, you know? And I’ve been sat there cutting my hair how _Ron_ wants, trying to recreate something that’s never coming back. And I realised that this year. It’s not an MP4/4 and Jenson isn’t Prost. The yellow helmet isn’t really who I am in this world, and more than anything, he wouldn’t want that. You race to win, that’s all you need.”

Fernando listened, surprised by the honesty, and nodded as he thought it through. _That’s interesting._ “So…you’re going to change your helmet?”

“Not yet.” The Brit smiled and shrugged. “I’ll say goodbye to McLaren first, then we’ll see. I’ll keep some yellow. Always.”

“You’re being honest tonight, no?”

“I am!” Lewis shrugged and smiled. “I’m not really sure why. Maybe it’s this city. You can just feel it, you know?”

“I do know.” The Spaniard nodded and took a sip of his drink. “There’s something in the air. Is the only city in the world where you ask for rain and it comes.”

“You still think that’s the city?” Lewis locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Typical.”

Fernando smiled at him and nodded. “I like my cards close.”

“I understand. But not tonight.”

“Ok.” The Ferrari driver heard the hint and wondered where to go next, the British driver seemingly intent on saying anything he wanted to. “So…she doesn’t understand that this is about you, not the team. It’s about becoming _you_ , no?”

“Exactly. Why do _you_ understand?”

“Because I know you. You have to know you to respect you, and I respect you.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Lewis sat up and leaned forward. “Can I record you saying that?!”

“No!”

They laughed and both took identical sips.

“I don’t know why I told you all that.”

“Is ok. Interesting. People write things, they forget we are human beings in cars.”

“They do. But you like it, right?”

“I like it.”

“You like me?”

Fernando stopped and stared at him. “I do. Now.”

“Now who’s being honest?” Lewis grinned and nodded at him in acceptance. “Still me? Ok. How about this: It’s important to me that you like me.”

A couple of seconds of silence passed before Fernando looked back at him and seemed to take in a preparatory breath. _I know._ “Why?”

“Because I like you. Since I arrived here. Your ego is as big as your talent…you don’t bullshit people, but you’re not rude. And you will cut through anything or anyone to win.”

The Spaniard studied him and a sideways smile started to cross his face. “Maybe now. Before, maybe the ego was bigger than the talent a little bit.”

The McLaren driver smiled and shrugged innocently. “Maybe. Same for me…”

They nodded at each other and smiled knowingly. “But we grew up.”

“We did. How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

“I want it to rain.”

“It’s already raining. Ask and you receive. Which is true right now, too.”

 _What does that mean?!_ “What do you mean?”

“I mean…it’s raining, and it will rain tomorrow. You’ll do well in the race. I don’t know what will happen with _him_ , but I know you’ll do your best. I want you to win it. If it’s not me, I want it to be you.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time.” _Because it’s true._

The Ferrari driver looked at him again and sat up, closer so they were closer, the space between them seeming a bit too big before. “Why?”

“Because you do what only me and you can do: you take a car that isn’t the best and you win with it. And…you stand for something.”

“But like you said, so do you.”

“People don’t write that about me, though. They write that about you. For good reason. You’re an inspiration every time I walk into the paddock and see you. Because you remind me of all those things that don’t seem to exist anymore. Ferrari vs McLaren, those days. Driving…really driving. Pushing to the limit by finding a new one. Nobody else does that.”

_How do I reply?_

“You don’t have to reply.” Lewis smiled and tentatively put out his hand and covered the Ferrari driver’s, feeling an appreciative shiver as it moved and seemed to accept it, both of them looking at each other, breath slightly held. “You don’t have to reply, I just wanted to tell you. Before tomorrow. Because you might lose, but I want you to know that you did your best and it was the best we’ve seen for a long time.”

 _Oh._ “Thank you.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Really?”

“Tonight, I’m being honest.” The McLaren driver wound his fingers into Fernando’s and nodded, looking at their hands instead of at his face. “You’re different to them.”

The Spaniard looked down at their hands with a different expression, somewhere nearer appreciative shock, and shrugged. _Maybe._ “But I’m not so different to you.”

“No.” Lewis smiled and they locked eyes again. “Not so different to me.” He squeezed his hand before getting to his feet and gently pulling the Spaniard up with him, eye to eye again but upright. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Fernando nodded slowly, still staring at each other, hands still connected, somehow not something he wanted to end. “Thank you.”

The Brit smiled and nodded at him, and the look in his eyes, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek accompanied by a squeeze of the hand, which was returned as they hovered close to each other for a split second before Lewis pulled away and nodded.

“I’m going to bed now. But I’ll see you tomorrow, in the rain. And if you don’t win it, I’ll be on the balcony again at midnight. Waiting for you, in the rain.”

And he was.


	4. Seb/Kimi - "Siege"

“I’ve got a problem.”

Sebastian ducked down further into the corner and pulled the Finn closer. 

“I keep telling the truth.”

Kimi looked at him, long and hard, and shrugged. “Right…”

“No, I mean…really. It’s like I get to a moment where I _really_ don’t want to say something, and then…I say it.”

“That’s my life.” The Finn gave him a wry smile and shrugged again. “Just stop…?”

“It’s not that simple! Especially now. I’m walking a tightrope as it is.”

“But you’re always honest.”

“Honest _enough_ , maybe. But not…like this.”

“Right.”

“You’re so unhelpful.”

They stared at each other for a second, Kimi shrugging again, so far away from offended it was almost offensive, and Seb poked him in the chest. 

“Come on. Help!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

_Oh, no…_ He could feel it coming, another one of those moments that he’d no control over, and looked down and tried to mumble. “There’s a lot I want you to say.”

“Like what?”

_This conversation is now officially unhelpful._ “I want you to tell me you care.”

Kimi stared at him for a few seconds, idly chewing gum, before shrugging. “icare.”

The German stared back, eyes wide, unsure if he’d heard him right. “What?!”

“I said, I CARE. But why are we talking about…us?”

_Oh my God._ “Because I can’t help it! And I have a press conference in a few minutes, and you’re choosing today to tell me this?”

“I didn’t choose, you asked.”

“I wanted to know. What am I going to do?”

“Just…control yourself.”

“I’ve heard that before…” The German grinned at him and the shared memory hit them both for a second. “But I can’t. I’m not joking, I can’t stop things coming out of my mouth. So I’m safe around…you. And that’s it. No one else.”

“Then go home.”

_Thanks._ “No. I’m not going home! I can still drive, I can’t just run away.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to live with it.”

“Ok.” The German took a deep breath to try and keep calm and then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go to the press conference and tell everyone anything they want to know, and you can go back to your lunch. Right?”

“Yeah…?” The Finn looked at him as though that was the most normal thing in the world.

“BUT THE THINGS I MIGHT SAY!”

“Nevermind.” The Ferrari driver stared him down and smiled. “You’ll be fine.”

*

“A question for Sebastian. Is the stress of expectation the difference between you and Daniel this year?”

Seb took a deep breath and looked to his left, where Jenson was staring at him, waiting for him to answer. _Shit, shit, shit._ He’d not said one word other than very generic but truthful snippets. _Here we go…_

“No. I’ve been driving for years and winning for years. You get used to a style of driving, and it’s harder to get into a worse car than it is into a better one. It’ll get better again.” _Not bad._

“Is it the pressure getting to you? What do you do to de-stress?”

The German looked for the face that had asked the question and smiled thinly into the crowd of press, desperation starting to beat the faint hope of it not happening. _It’s coming…._ He bit his lip slightly to stop himself laughing inappropriately at the appropriate joke. “The pressure isn’t getting to me. It’s a normal situation. Every race you approach it the same way, start on Friday and build up towards the race. It’s just that this year we are, obviously, behind the Mercedes. I don’t like not fighting at the front every weekend, but we need to stay focused.” _Nailed it._ He leant back in the chair and smiled slightly before finding himself leaning forward once again, starting to panic as he realised the second part of that question still required an answer; an answer that his brain seemed intent on giving. Honestly. “And to de-stress…” _No, no, no, no, no…_ “…I have sex with Kimi.”

_FUCK._

There was a short gasp 100 people wide before a laugh went round the room and the other drivers’ heads all turned to stare at him.

_FUCK FUCK FUCK._

He smiled and nodded, not able to shrug, not able to dismiss it as bullshit, and stared out, waiting for the next one. _They don’t believe it. It’s fine._

“What do you really do?”

_OH, THANKS. MAKE ME FUCKING REPEAT IT._ His face was absolutely _burning_ red and he wondered why that in itself wasn’t enough to convince them he was telling the truth. “No, honestly. We’re in an…open relationship. Usually I’m on top. Which surprised me too, because I’m the first guy he slept with, and I expected it the other way round, I guess. But that’s good for me. So, yeah…”

“I think we should take a short break for Mr Vettel to control his sense of humour.”

The laughs had become distastefully disgruntled and people were looking at each other in confusion, Felipe and Checo staring at each other in shock, Jenson staring down, wide-eyed, not laughing but not looking un-amused either, Jules looking a bit spaced out, Romain sat on the end of the row staring straight at the back wall, wide-eyed and bright red.

“I’m not joking!” Seb was suddenly on his feet, palms planted on the table, yelling the complete opposite of what he wanted to yell, still bright red but unable to stop. “I promise! Ask him. Earlier he even said he cared! I have a problem today and I keep telling the truth and I’m _sorry_ that it shouldn’t be here, but I’m gay. And I have sex with guys. And here in Formula 1 I have sex with Kimi.”

“I think you should leave the press conference.”

“Yeah, I agree!” Sebastian sighed and hung his head before sighing and shrugging desolately, no way out, realising millions of people were going to see this, somehow, still unable to stop. “I’m sorry. I’m just telling the truth.”

By the time he had left and was back in the safety of loneliness, it was dark. And by the time Kimi eventually knocked on the door, he’d convinced himself he would never knock on the door ever again. But he did, and the RBR driver opened it to find a soaked Finn looking up at him in that calmly, smugly bemused Kimi-classic of an expression, the peak of his Ferrari cap dripping in the rain.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

The older man waited a split second before leaning forward slightly. “So…you’re going to let me in?”

“Oh! Sorry!” The German shook his head as though trying to shake away the stupidity. “Come in.”

“Thanks.” He sent Seb a wry smile as he walked in, dark enough in the paddock to not raise too many eyebrows despite the insanity going around after the press conference show. “You still have to tell the truth?”

“Yes.” _Apparently._

“Ok. I want to ask you…are you embarrassed?”

Seb shrugged slowly at the calmness in front of him. “No. I’m embarrassed how it happened, but I’m not embarrassed about you.”

“Ok. Good. Want to watch a movie?”

The Red Bull driver stared at him and his jaw dropped open. “What?! Now?!”

“Yeah…?”

“What?!”

“Why are you…?” The Finn waved his hand to signify some as-yet undecided adjective, trailing off and shrugging. 

“We can’t just watch a movie, today was a fucking disaster!”

“Yeah but can’t do anything now. Thor? Or Iron Man 3?”

_He’s fucking serious._ The German stared for another few seconds before the shock and outrage started to become amusement, affection and appreciation. _And he’s right._ “Right…well. If…we are watching a movie, I want to watch Iron Man 3.”

“Cool.” Kimi nodded his approval and opened the cupboard to find the blu ray. “Beer?”

“In the fridge.”

“Cool.”

_Yes, you are._

They sat down on the sofa after the Finn had gathered everything together and put in the film, Seb curling himself around him out of habit, brain still fuzzy at the reality of trying to literally give _zero_ shits about the crazy events of the day, finding his hand hitting the bottom of the popcorn bag brushing against the crotch of his companion, both of them looking up and locking eyes and smiling, everything back to some sort of normal.

“You don’t really care, do you? About what I said.”

“Not really.” Kimi smiled sideways and shrugged. “I like you. It’s fine.”

_Fine._ “It’s more than fine.” The German grabbed the empty popcorn bag and threw it at the TV before grinning at Kimi and raising his eyebrows, straddling the other driver and pulling his cap off, throwing it behind him and grimacing slightly as it smacked the TV. “It’s the only way I’m ever going to feel better.”

The Finn hooked his thumbs into the back of the waistband of the German’s jeans and pushed his fingers into his pockets, pulling him a bit closer and smiling at the friction, Seb’s forehead gently leaning against his and lips hovering close.

“You going to make me feel better?” The German smiled and nipped the other driver’s lip, pulling away and smiling to himself at the closed-eye expression of bliss, followed by a nod.

“Good.” He leaned in again and took his time to go slower than normal, feeling the slight difference between this moment and those that had come before, both of them aware to some degree that they were surrounded and the world around them wasn’t going to be a pleasant place for some time, even Kimi feeling the safety and comfort of it just being _them_. Eventually the Finn pulled out of the kiss and locked his arms together behind Seb, lifting him up and walking the familiar few steps to the bed, putting him down, sat on the end, and standing in front of him.

“You want me to stay tonight?”

The German locked eyes with him and smiled, nodding. “You want to stay?”

“Yeah. Tonight I want to stay.”

_Wow. Please, please stay._ “Please.”

“Ok.” Kimi smiled and shrugged. “I’ll stay.” He ran a hand through Seb’s hair and then pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Like I said, I like you.”

_I think maybe you need some truth serum. Because I think it might be more._ He tried to put that out of his mind as his shirt was removed, then jeans, then socks, then boxer shorts, and watched Kimi do the same, finally able to turn off his brain once the Finn’s lips were making their way from his neck to his chest and down until his tongue was doing more than his lips, circling and licking and teasing, everything just a little bit slower than normal, more care taken, siege mentality making it seem as though it could be the last time so it had to count for more. But it wasn’t the last time, and when they woke up in the morning, phones ringing and someone banging on the door, they did it again, and made them wait.

And after they’d stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, breathing and waiting for ringing of the phone to stop, Kimi suddenly turned over and looked at him with the same expression that he’d had to see on Sebastian’s face the day before: _I’m telling the truth, by accident._

“I think I have the same problem you had yesterday.”

The German raised his eyebrows and grinned wickedly. “Ha! Well…can’t get any worse, right? What’s your biggest secret?”

Kimi stared and sighed before he closed his eyes and smiled, giving in to the inevitability.

“I love you.”


	5. Dani/Marc - "Emergency Marquez-finding"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I need to just admit right now that this is my favourite pairing on God's green Earth, if my other stuff on here doesn't make that obvious ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and kudos-ing so far! It is massively appreciated.
> 
> More will keep appearing soon!

“I need to talk to Marc.”

Dani rushed into the room, slightly behind his words because of the hurry, and looked around, seriously stricken.

“Where is he?! I need to talk to him!”

Emilio looked up from what he was doing and frowned. “Ok. Calm down…he’s not back from lunch yet.”

“But I need to talk to him _now._ ”

“Oookkk…” The word was drawn out, understanding and puzzled at the same time, like he was speaking to a small child. Which is what the older of the two HRC riders was acting like. “Well I can’t magic him back here, so…feel free to wait or go and find him.”

“Ok.” Dani took a deep, definitive breath and planted his hands on his hips, action-thinking pose full-power. “Well then I’ll go and find him. If he comes back, tell him I was-“

“Will do.”

“Thanks!”

He whirled off back where he’d come from and found himself _jogging_ towards the hospitality, going in and stopping, casting his eyes around as he had done moments before in the much smaller room. “Where’s Marc?”

3 or 4 people shrugged, before someone coughed and Santi’s head popped out from behind someone else. “Er…in the bathroom…?”

“Where? Here?” The Sabadell native was still on emergency Marquez-finding and the words were short and clipped, patience frayed. “HELLO?”

“Woah.” Santi frowned at him and got to his feet. “Yeah, here. What’s wrong with you?”

“I have to tell him something. Now.” Dani started for the toilet door and then paused, realising the problem. “Er…maybe…maybe I’ll wait for him to come out.” _Hee hee._ He smiled to himself and nodded. _If only they knew how much I want him to ‘come out’._

“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.”

“Ok.” Dani nodded and sat down abruptly on the nearest chair, staring at the door and tapping his foot. “No problem. Patience, patience, patience…” _COME ON!_

“Ok, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” The Honda rider shrugged and smiled in that classic ‘there is something massive going on but I’m not going to tell you yet’ way. “I just _need_ to talk to Marc.”

“Right, ok. Fine.” Santi shook his head in exasperation and was about to try again before the highly anticipated door opened and the man himself appeared. The room turned to look at him, everyone now aware of everything, before turning back to Dani like Wimbledon powered by petrol. The Cervera native stopped dead in his tracks and looked around the room, worried but bemused, before his eyes came to rest on Dani, who had excitedly shot to his feet. 

“YOU’RE HERE!” The older of the two beamed and actually _clapped_. “Yay!”

Marc looked at him like he was insane, the more observant among the others in the room maybe able to notice the affection in the reaction; shocked but excited to find out why, puzzled but not _unused_ to Dani and his occasionally adorable outbursts. “Hey. Yeah, I’m here. You looking for me?”

“Yes.” Nodding.

“Right.” Marc smiled and they locked eyes for a second, the younger at least aware of the audience. “I’m here. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you. Now. It’s urgent.”

“Ok.” The World Champion let a smile tug at his mouth, unable to remain unaffected by the childlike excitement barrelling towards him across the room. “In private?”

“I don’t mind. That’s what I’m here to say!” Dani leaned forward slightly and raised his eyebrows. “ _If you get what I mean…_ ”

Anyone in the room who had chalked the whole shebang down to just a normal but slightly overeager moment leant forward slightly as they waited for Marc’s response, suddenly feeling the nudge-nudge wink-wink element and realising it was evidently something that the two riders had talked about before. Marc, for his part, got the hint completely and a grin suddenly lit up his face as the words sunk in. “Are you serious? You mean _you don’t mind_ if everyone _knows_?!”

Dani nodded again, even more enthusiasm, words too fast for the non-natives to not need a bit more time to process them, one set of reaction faces ahead of the other. “I’m not sure what happened but I got off the bike after FP1 and I just felt like I had to tell you. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I kind of decided last week that… _yes_ , I thought it should happen and…ever since you said, you know… _what you said_ I’ve been wondering why I didn’t just tell you the _truth_ …and now…something happened…and I’m telling you the truth.”

Marc took that all in, face getting happier and happier, all of him just as childishly _brimming_ with excitement as his teammate, the space in between them seeming to get smaller, although neither moved. “Seriously. Are you serious?!”

“The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

That was it.

“ARGH!” Marc suddenly snapped and jumped up in the air slightly before dashing over to the older rider and grabbing him into a hug, Dani steadying himself for the impact as though he was _used_ to it, everyone looking at each other in confusion. “Oh my God!”

Dani smiled into his hair, not the kind of casual ‘oh, well done’ hug they’d previously had in public, nodding, lips pressed against Marc’s ear. “I know! So I was in a bit of a rush. Shall we start now?”

The younger rider pulled himself away slightly, arms still round Dani’s waist, and locked eyes with him as he nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah.” He nodded again, the two of them sharing a private little conversation without saying anything and taking a little preparatory breath each, before Marc then leaned in and pressed his lips against the other rider’s, the room exploding in one massive gasp.

The silence after the intake of breath lasted a few more seconds as they get more into it, forgetting the audience and wrapped up in the moment, and each other, suddenly free to _be._ Dani had one hand around Marc’s waist and one in his hair, the younger rider both hands making the slow descent from upper back to ass, eventually pushing into his jeans pockets like a teenager, cheekily squeezing them together and moaning slightly as their crotches came into contact. That seemed to wake everybody up.

“What the fuck!”

Santi’s yell, not unhappy but thoroughly shocked, did the same thing to the riders as the moan had to the room and they broke apart, both breathless and blissful but slightly red-faced at the extent they’d gone to.

“Hmmm….yeah.” Marc smiled and shrugged slightly, slightly nervous but not defensive and knowing he didn’t have to be, enjoying the spotlight moment and the freedom, him having been the one pushing to be _honest_ , Dani always the one begging him to keep it a secret. “So…this could be awkward…?”

Dani coughed slightly and smiled, winding his fingers into the World Champion’s and squeezing his hand, Marc replying in kind. Santi was still the only member of the audience who had found his voice.

“Awkward? Is this a joke?!”

“No.” Marc shook his head and turned it to look at Dani, their expressions enough proof to quash any doubts that might have remained; complete beaming unadulterated _love_ the only thing communicated. “Not a joke.” He looked back at Santi, pleased to have a focal point for his explanation. “What he was saying, before? About…what _I told him_ …well, I told-“

“Wait!” Dani pulled his hand free and stood in front of the Cervera native again, hands on his waist, wanting to get the head start and reply before Marc could finish. “That’s what I have to tell you, too.” He stared into his eyes and smiled as they lit up with expectation. “I love _you_ , too.”

The corner of Marc’s eyes crinkled happily and he smiled, nodding as though he already knew, Dani raising his eyebrows as if to check that he already knew, Marc nodding once more to confirm _yes_.

“I know. I love you.” 

“Well…GOOD.” Dani grinned and pulled him in for another kiss, tongues swirling and hands automatically going back to how they had been before, as though they’d done it a thousand times before but still meant every last shiver of it. 

“Ok, everybody.” Santi, some sense recovered, looked round the room and clapped his hands together. “This stays in this room. You don’t tell anyone until we’ve talked about-”

This time it was Dani who pulled away, looking over at Marc’s right hand man and shaking his head, affectionately but firmly. “Sorry…that’s what I meant. It’s not about telling you or Honda...we’re going to tell everyone.”

Marc nodded and smiled. “EVERYONE!”

The crew chief winced slightly and then hung his head in acceptance, shock still winning over anything else. “Fucking hell. Right.”

“Right…?”

“Yeah.” He looked up, staring, and then smiled at them and shrugged. “You’re happy; I’m happy. If you’re sure…”

“Hmmm…” Marc sarcastically thought it over and then cracked into a grin. “Yeah, I’m really fucking sure.”

*

“He’s not in there.” Emilio turned back to Santi and shrugged before looking at his watch. “If we don’t find him in 5 minutes, the whole thing is going to be even worse…you know he needs a fucking hour to sort himself out in the morning.”

“I’m sure he’s around, he did organise the press conference.”

“He did.” Emilio nodded and shrugged again. “But now he’s disappeared, so…”

_“I HAVEN’T DISAPPEARED!”_

They looked at each other and then at the door as they tried to figure out where the voice had come from.

“Marc?” Emilio knocked on the door and listened intently. “Are you in there?”

 _“No!”_

The bedroom window on Dani’s motorhome, next door, flew open and a ruffled head appeared.

“I’m here, you idiots.”

They looked at each other and then at him, walking a few paces closer. “Oh.”

“Oh? Where did you think I’d be?!”

“Well…asleep…?”

Dani’s head appeared next to him, both of them obviously undressed, bare collarbones just about visible above the window sill, which was fairly high up. “We were asleep, yeah…”

“Together?”

“Yeah…?” The older rider looked at the former 125cc champion, puzzled, and nodded. “We’re in a relationship, obviously we sleep together..?”

Marc grinned, cheek more than evident, and his hand obviously did something to Dani’s lower, not-visible half, the older rider suddenly going red and jumping a foot in the air. “Hey!”

“What?! We _do_ sleep together.”

“Not in public.” He raised an eyebrow at Marc’s puppy dog eyes and then shrugged. “Ok, fine. Anytime, anyplace…anything…”

“Ha. Ok. I’ll remember that!” He grinned and kissed him on the nose, Dani still slightly more sheepish but very much enjoying the freedom.

“I’m sure you will.”

“You know it.”

Marc’s hand obviously did the same thing again and Dani’s face went slightly red, eyes closed. “Ok, stop…they’re right there, you pervert.”

The younger man laughed and then held both his hands up to show Santi and Emilio they were free, the two other men stood silently staring, somewhere between horror, fascination and glee.

“Anyway, guys…Hello? Hellooo?” Marc waved his hand and brought them back to reality. “Press conference isn’t for another hour.”

“No, it isn’t.” Emilio coughed and tried to carry on as normal, red faced, as he expected the younger rider would be forcing him to be for some time over the coming weeks, Marc enjoying the game far too much. “But you always take a long time in the morning to-“

“Oh!” Marc laughed and nodded, Dani smiling to himself at the same time, as he realised the problem. “No! I take like, 5 minutes!”

“No, come on. You-“

“Noooo.” The World Champion shook his head and said it slowly. “I wake up early because I always sneak over to _him_ ,” he pointed at Dani, “…and then we get a while together before the day starts.”

“What?!”

“Yeah…sorry! But it’s ok, we were awake. We’ll just shower and then meet you there, ok?”

The two older men looked at each other again and then shrugged. _Fucking hell._ “Ok.”

Marc smiled and then it was his turn to go slightly red as Dani’s expression suddenly went very cheeky, the younger rider turning to his teammate and fake-glaring. “If I can’t do it, _pervert_ , neither can you!”

“Ok, ok!” Dani grinned and leaned in for a quick kiss before surrendering, waving out the window and disappearing. “See you in a bit, guys.”

Marc turned to say something to him and Santi and Emilio waited as the very obvious _don’t lock the door this time, idiot! And save me some shampoo!_ reached them.

_They’re serious. They’re dead serious. Which is ok. It’s ok, but it’s certainly going to be weird. And insane._

The two older men said their slightly awkward goodbyes to Marc and walked away, not saying anything to each other until they were further away and out of ear shot, when Santi turned to his compatriot and threw his hands in the air.

“ALL THIS TIME I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR HIM, AND HE’S BEEN SHOWERING WITH PEDROSA!”

Emilio looked at him and then nodded, appreciating the frustration. “I know.”

“THEY JUST SLEPT TOGETHER! THEY SLEEP TOGETHER! DANI AND MARC! YOU KNOW?! DANI AND MARC _FUCK!_ ”

“Yeah.” Sigh, exasperated affection matching the crew chief’s. “I know.”

“BUT-“

“No, I know! Crazy.”

Santi took a calming breath and closed his eyes for a second before looking back at him. “I told you. Remember, ages ago…I turned to you and I said ‘that kid is fucking crazy’...”

“YES."

Emilio put a hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly to make it sink in, grinning through the shock despite himself.

"I KNOW!”


	6. Lewis/Nico - "Oops But Not Oops!"

“Hicanicomeinplease...”

Nico slurred against the video-intercom mic and stared up into the camera where he expected Lewis was watching, inebriated in a few ways.

“itsjustme…LEMME IN…pleassseee…”

 _“I can see it’s you.”_ The voice was loud but sounded far away, British accent cutting across the peaceful Monaco hallway. _“What do you want?”_

“Don’t be like THAT.” The German propped himself up slightly straighter and smiled into the camera, spreading his arms to talk to it. “I’mjustfeeling…alittle…STRANGE. So I thought ‘WHATCANIDO’ and then I thought ‘IcangoandseeLEWISSS.’ So…here I am! But you are seeing _me_ …” He pouted and took a swig from the large Mumm champagne bottle that had been hidden out of shot. “PLEASE lemme” –cough- “LET. ME. IN!”

_“Are you drunk? Because that rug still isn’t clean from the last time you threw up on it and back then we were still…friends. Proper friends. You can clean it this time if you do it again.”_

Lewis’ teammate pouted at the lens and shook his head. “Not drunnkkk! Never drunkkkk!! Ha!” He hiccupped and shrugged to himself, another swig of champagne _mostly_ going in his mouth. “Ifeeeeeelstrange. I think someone put SOMETHING inmydrink.”

There were a few seconds of silence as the Brit tried to figure out how serious he was being, eventually just asking. _“Really? Or you’re too drunk to take responsibility?”_

“NO!” Nico yelled at the camera, stricken, and shook his head violently. “I TAKE RESPONSIBILITY! THAT’S WHY I’M HERE!”

_“Why are you yelling, man?”_

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The blonde put a finger to his lips and smiled. “So loud, _MAN_.”

_“Don’t mock me from my own doorstep.”_

“No no no no no NO! Not mocking…pleeeaassse! Just let me in and WECANTALK.”

Lewis sighed and rested his forehead against the wall. _Doesn’t look like he’s going to leave._ “Right. Ok. Fine.” He pressed the door open and waited for the long, drawn out _bang bang bang_ of the German’s progress up the very few steps from the elevator lobby to come to a halt, pulling the door open to find his teammate half collapsed against the wall just outside. His head swiveled as Lewis appeared, smiling and pulling him into a messy, unsolicited hug.

“HEY. THANK YOU FOR LETTING me IN.”

“No problem.” The former McLaren driver pulled himself out of the arms before deciding better of it and winding an arm around Nico to hold him up, pulling the German inside after him and closing the door. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. AT ALL.” The Monaco winner shook his head and then turned to look at him, beaming. “Better now I’m here with yooouuuu.”

“Ok.” Lewis widened his eyes slightly to himself, depositing his somehow-inebriated friend on a sofa and sitting down next to him. “Good. You’re so drunk!” The sight of him, lolling around as though he was made of jelly, was enough to defrost the Brit slightly after the events of the weekend, and the similarity to _every other time_ he’d seen his friend in a similar state made him grin down and shake his head affectionately. “You’re seriously _fucked._ ”

“Nuh-huh! I’m not drunk. HONESTLY. I am maybe a LITTLE bit TIPSY, but someone in a bar gave me some stuff he said would be fun and I DRANK IT and NOW I WANT TO TELL you EVERYTHING!! AND…THAT WAS YESTERDAY! So it was some pretty STRONG SHIT, MAN!” He grinned and held up the champagne bottle before putting his thumb over the end and shaking it violently, releasing the spray straight at Lewis’ face and giggling hysterically as it hit him full force. “OOPS BUT NOT OOPS!”

The Stevenage native took the assault calmly, eyes closed and t shirt soaked, feeling himself varying wildly between laughing and seeking revenge or getting very, very angry and throwing him out. “You fucker.”

“Hee hee! Yeah! I am a _fucker!_ Remember when I almost fucked YOU?!”

That did it and Lewis held his head in his hands, laughing to himself exasperatedly. “Yes, I remember thank you. We said we shouldn’t talk about that again…”

“But it was SO COOOOOL! I was SOOO HARD! SERIOUSLY!” Nico stared up at him, wide-eyed, and grinned. “Shame.”

“Shame?”

“Shame! I WANT YOU. I KNOW that now it’s gone a bit BAD with us and everything…BUT SHAME!” He smiled, incredibly genuinely, and offered Lewis the almost empty bottle, which the Brit took and took a few big sips from. “I didn’t do it on purpose. On Saturday. Ididn’tdoitonpurpose but also…I’mgladIwon. BUT SORRY. I MEAN THAT. SORRY. And WE need to STOP all this!” He waved his arms around and sighed. “We CAN be EVVVVVVVIL on the track BUT FAIR! And then here…ON THE SOFA…we can FUCK!!”

 _What the fuck has he taken._ “Er…no. Well, yeah we can be evil on the track…but I don’t think we should fuck…”

“BOOOOOOOOOOO!” The younger Rosberg pouted and shot to his feet, somehow. “Noo! I want BOTH!”

Lewis stared at him and smiled again, the whole thing just about sinking in. _Nico, here. Apologising, and asking me to fuck him._ “Right…you need to calm down. Seriously. You’re going to hurt yourself, or me.” He watched him sway and pointed pointedly. “See? Just sit down.”

“But I want to dance! DANCE WITH ME!!” His hips started doing a drunk Shakira and he grinned down at his teammate. “TANZEN!!!”

“No.” Lewis giggled and shook his head. “No bloody tanzen. Not now. _Sit down._ ”

The German pouted again and looked sad, puppy dog eyes as he plonked himself back down, a lot closer, leg glued to the other driver’s. “Okkk. I sat down. Do I get a prize?”

“No.”

“Can I take my clothes off?”

“Definitely not!”

“BOOOO!!!!” Nico grabbed the champagne again and downed the last bit before rolling the bottle off the sofa onto the floor, looking up at his teammate with a guilty face, hand over his mouth and eyes wide, ‘oops’ just about audible as he hiccuped. “You take YOURS off then!” He grinned and nodded to himself, happy with the new plan, and started pawing at Lewis’ t shirt, hands slapped away good-naturedly. “Please, baby…please let me…”

 _Baby?!_ “Stop it!”

“Nuh-huh! I want you reeeaaallllly baaaaaaad. So we should just…FUCK. Yeah?”

 _Seriously. So obsessed with the fucking._ “What is going on with you?! What did you take?!”

“You want to know?” The German slurred and leaned in close to Lewis’ face, eyes going from eyes to being trained on his lips. “It was meant to be like TRUTH SERUM.” He locked his eyes back on Lewis’ brown ones and smiled again, feeling the crackle of the closeness fill the room. “And it’s WORKING.”

 _Holy shit._ “Good one.”

“I’m serious! IREALLYLIKEYOU. I mean…we don’t have to be BEST friends but we could at least be SOMETHING.” The German ran his hand from Lewis’ knee to his upper thigh, eyes fluttering at him. “ANYTHING. I’ll take ANYTHING, baby.”

 _Baby._ “I think you should move your hand.”

“Ok!” Nico grinned and grabbed Lewis right in the crotch, not hard enough to hurt but nevertheless _definitively_. “Better?”

He was trying to say no, he was trying to get himself to move away, trying to escape the strange reality of this sunny Monday morning. But he couldn’t.

“Y-yeah.” He listened to himself say the word, also slightly slurred, and looked at his teammate, wide-eyed, feeling a strange feeling start to spread through him. _Oh, fuck. He’s-_ “THERE WAS SOME OF THAT STUFF IN THAT CHAMPAGNE, WASN’T THERE?!”

The German, hand still where it had been, slowly starting to move it, feeling Lewis react, eyes shining at him, slowly grinned and nodded before laughing evilly. “YES!”

Lewis closed his eyes for a split second, consciously aware of his senses fogging over but enjoying it somehow, and groaned as he relaxed back into the sofa. _Fuck it. Fuck everything. No. Well, yeah. Maybe…but…it is good. Maybe that’s all that matters…_ “Greeeeeaaaaaaat.”

“I KNOW.” Nico laughed again, hand moving in a rhythm now, responding to the response, and nodded at the expression on his teammate’s face. “It works, doesn’t it?”

“Yep.” The Brit’s voice was shaky as he dug his fingers into the sofa fabric and tried to breathe, Nico’s fingers starting to undo his jeans button, that the center of all his attention. “It does. So HURRY UP!”

“Ok! Yay!” The encouragement allowed the German to free Lewis from his jeans in less than a pit-stop, _definitively_ as aroused as he was. “Good morning.” Nico grinned and they both laughed. “I like you _too!_ ” He smiled up at Lewis’ face again before hooking a finger into each side of the waist band of his teammate’s boxers and pulling them free, the Brit shifting to help him, and then slid onto the floor and stared up at him.

“That’s hot.”

“What? MEE?”

“Yeah.” Lewis nodded and tried to relax again as he watched the blonde’s mouth get closer and closer. “You, down there. Sucking me off.”

“Haaa! Not yet…” Nico paused and grinned, enjoying the teasing, before smiling more truthfully and nodding. “But now…YEAH.” He circled the tip with his tongue and felt a little fizz in the pit of his stomach as he heard the moan in response, felt Lewis' thighs tense, watched his fingers dig in to the sofa again, and hummed the words against his teammate’s skin.

“Suck-ing you offffff…”


	7. Pol/Scott/Jorge - "Canine Thievery Protocol"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 44 Kudos, we have some Pol. Just a disclaimer: I love Pol, but he's a funny character to write like this. No offense intended ;)
> 
> If you don't know who Pippa is...you need to find out! 
> 
> And I think I'm right in thinking Pol's first podium in Moto2 was Indy...and I know there's only 1 Moto2 rider per conference and usually a Moto3 but I changed that to fit. :)
> 
> Enjoy!!! :D
> 
> (Originally forgot to say: set in 2013, obviously :))

“Eh, Polyccio! WAKE UP.”

Nothing.

“Pol, Pol…Pol Pol Pol Pol Pol Pol Pol Pol Pol…”

A slight murmur and some chewing, seemingly unrelated to waking up.

Aleix sighed and thought about what his brain might let through the filter, his brother’s consciousness flexible depending on the importance of sleep vs information. “YOU HAVE A PENALTY.”

Nope.

“ _I_ HAVE A PENALTY.”

Nothing.

“FIRE!!!!”

Nothing.

“Ok, fine. You made me do it.” Aleix took a deep breath and bent as close to his brother’s ear as he could. “SCOTT REDDING STOLE PIPPA!”

Pol shot bolt upright, almost smacking his head against his brother’s, staring round the room wide eyed, outraged and immediately ready to go to war. “WHAT?! THAT BASTARD!”

Aleix started to giggle as he took in the facial expression. “And also, press conference in 20 minutes.”

“NO TIME FOR THAT!” Ready, seemingly, didn’t mean the same thing as _awake_. “WHERE DID HE TAKE HER?!”

The older Espargabro hung his head and shook it, still giggling to himself and the sight of his brother. “Ok…we’re in Indianapolis…”

“SO?! MEXICO? OVER THE BORDER? GOD! POOR PIPPA!”

“So…” He waited for that to sink in a bit, which took a while. “So…Pippa is with mum and dad in Granollers, you have a press conference and I said it to wake you up…”

Pol’s face froze as the sense caught up with the panic. “Oh.”

“Oh.”

“OH.” Pol pouted and crossed his arms. “OH, I SEE.”

“Sorry, not sorry. Go and part your hair.”

The Moto2 title contender pouted even more and huffed. “Right. Fine. You know…that’s not funny.”

“It really was.”

“No.” He got to the door and turned back to frown at his giggling sibling. “One day someone will steal Pippa and you’ll cry and I won’t believe you, and you’ll cry even more.”

 _Should resist. Can’t resist._ “I’m not the one known for crying…”

Pol squared his shoulders, outraged, and marched out the room. “WELL WE CAN SOON CHANGE THAT!”

*

Hair parted, Pons T shirt on and ready for questions, Pol walked into the room and made a beeline for Jorge. He knew everyone, obviously, but of the people in the room there were many he didn’t really want to talk to. Chiefly Marc, who was talking to Dani. And Scott, who was talking to Cal. He walked over and the Mallorcan looked up and smiled, pocketing his phone.

“I like your hair.”

Pol beamed and tilted his head down to show off the haircut even more. “Crisp.”

“Very crisp.”

“I’m trying to beat Aleix.”

“I guessed.”

“Am I winning?”

“Hmm…” The Mallorcan prodded his hair and then swiftly ruffled it and grinned, evilly. “You were!”

The same shocked, angry pout as 10 minutes ago came back. “What are you doing?!”

“Just checking how _crisp_ it was.”

“Well, great. Thank you.” The younger rider huffed and tried to smooth it back into place, mostly successfully. “God, I thought you’d have some respect for a good hair style.”

Lorenzo grinned and shrugged. “I do. For a _good_ hairstyle.” He could see Pol start to boil again and changed the grin into a genuine smile. “Sorry. I’m joking. It’s nice. And better than Aleix’s.”

“Thank you.” The Pons rider nodded, accepting the admission with much more gravitas than Jorge had intended. “Thank you.”

 _And this guy is a baby Alien…_ “You’re welcome.”

“That means a lot.”

 _Evidently._ “So…feeling good? Indy was your first podium, no?”

“In Moto2? Yeah! Should be good. Just woke up though, not really sure where I am or what I’m doing.”

 _Is that very different to normal?_ “Ok…”

“Yeah.”

Jorge suddenly grinned again, and if Pol had been more awake he might have seen the mischievous evil behind it. “Well, if you need to wake up…have some Monster.” He slipped the little packet hidden in his back pocket into his hand and deftly opened it behind him, tipping some of the powder into the can before swirling it and flourishing it towards the younger rider. Pol took it, drank some, frowned slightly at the taste, and then gave it back.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” _Give it…a minute? 5? 15?_

_“Ok, gentlemen. If you could take your seats, we’re ready to start.”_

They sat where they were instructed: Pol, Jorge, Marc, Dani, Cal and Scott, and the questions started. The others answered with the classic, normal press conference answers. Cal always a bit cheekier, always something to say, Dani bored, Marc punctuating everything with errr, Scott always lazily erudite and surprisingly aware in his responses. Then it got to Pol.

Something about tyres?

“Yeah I think we all see has been a problem for us this year, is too much de-gra-da-tion over the race distance. For sure I think we can make a good job, but is dangerous for the rider.”

Scott was asked if he agreed: “Yeah, we have the same problem.”

Pol pouted at the microphone.

Something about the rivalry in Moto2?

Scott answered first. “I think it’s good to have a strong rival like Pol, you know? It means you’re doing a good job when you beat them.”

Do you agree, Pol?

“Yeah. Is good. But also I want to win every race. And he is a strong rival on track, but he’s mean in the paddock. And I think penalties for me and Aleix is very bad.”

A shiver of murmurs went through the crowd and Scott leant forward from the other end of the line to stare at him. “What?!”

“You’re mean.” Pol turned to look at him, past Jorge’s smirk, and shrugged, looking dejectedly upset. “I always try and be nice but you ignore me.”

The Brit continued his staring, eyes wide. “I don’t, I probably just don’t see you.”

“I think you see me and you’re trying to be cool.”

“No, I don’t have to try.” The Marc VDS rider smirked down the line and raised his eyebrows. “Honestly, I have a lot of respect for you. I’m not ignoring you.”

“Hmm.”

A few people talked amongst themselves in the gaggle of journalists before everyone seemed to try and ignore that and move on, Scott shaking his head and taking a sip of water, the Repsol Honda riders looking at each other, confused. 

Moving on. Something about first podium?

“Yeah, was my first podium here, when I have trouble before to..er, adapt to the Moto2. But now I think is a good track for me.”

Scott?

 _Don’t stoke the fire…_ “Yeah, I think it’s a good track for me, too.”

“I think it’s a better track for me.”

“I think Pol got out the wrong side of bed this morning.”

Cal coughed and leant forward slightly to interject. “Ok, lads. Stay calm.”

“I’m calm. But I think is, er…impressive I’m calm when he steal Pippa.”

Cal, aware of Jorge’s stash since the night before when they’d found it at a Yamaha event, immediately realised what he’d done and turned to stare past Dani and Marc at the Mallorcan, whose grin was evilly shining back at him. Cal smiled and tried not to react too much, looking forwards again to distract himself. _You bastard._

Meanwhile, Scott was staring down the line again, Dani looking at him, Marc looking at Pol. “What are you talking about?!”

Pol ignored him and looked into the crowd, dead serious. “Aleix tell me a few minutes ago that Rrredding steal his dog. Is unacceptable behavior in the paddock. Is not good for the sport and is not good for Pippa.”

The murmuring and _what the fucks_ started going round the room again, no one really sure what the protocol was when it came to canine thievery. In the absence of any voice of authority, Scott adjusted his mic and shrugged at the faces staring at him.

“I didn’t steal the dog. Obviously.”

Pol huffed and folded his arms. “Is typical.”

“What’s typical?!” The Marc VDS rider’s temper was starting to flare, amusement mostly gone. 

“You steal the dog and you lie. I hope is ok, because is very important for Aleix. Is a nice dog.”

“I’m sure it’s a lovely fucking dog but I’ve never fucking met it.”

“Language.” Nick Harris finally found his voice again and fidgeted, completely lost in the situation. “Obviously there’s something going on here we’re not aware of, if we could get back to talking about the race and leave this for in private.”

Scott nodded. “Absolutely.”

Pol rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Is not my fault. He take the dog.”

“Ok, Pol. We understand it must be upsetting if you _think_ Scott took the dog, but we need to move on. Questions from the floor?”

“NO!” Pol stood up and put his palms flat on the table. “YOU CAN’T STEAL A DOG! IT’S NOT RIGHT!”

Scott stood in the same way, irritation uncoiled, height and expression making him much more intimidating, temper snapped again and tone low and unwaveringly angry. “Ok, Pol. I didn’t take the dog. If the dog has gone, I’m very sorry. But you’re confused and you need to be quiet.”

“But Pippa-“

“Ok.” Jorge stood up and turned to the younger Espargaro, speaking in Spanish to make sure he was understood; guilt, horror and laughter all written on his face. “Pol…Aleix sent me a message before the press conference saying he was taking Pippa for a walk.” _That’s a lie._ “So Pippa is fine. I think you should go and find Aleix now, and check she’s ok.” _And I pray to God Calvin never tells you what I did._

The authority of Jorge Lorenzo telling him that vs Nick Harris telling him that seemed to sink in. “Really?”

“Yeah. Go and find her.”

“O-ok.” He smiled and nodded, relief evident. “I will.”

He pulled Jorge into an emotional hug and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you.”

The Mallorcan cringed as he watched him go, a muffled _at least somebody understands_ echoing back into the room, sharing a glance with Cal as he sat back down, not having intended the scale of the atrocities but equally not having any idea that ‘truth serum’ didn’t quite mean exactly what it said on the tin. _Fuck._

The room calmed after a few minutes and the questions resumed, Scott glowering at one end.

Marc, do you feel the pressure of coming here as a title contender after Jorge and Dani’s injuries?

The Cerverino leant forward to the mic and grinned. “No. Obviously, err… not as much as some other rider.”

A quiet laugh and Cal leant forward, grinning at Marc and unable to resist. “I think that’s easy to say when no one’s stolen your dog…”

*

“It was you.”

Cal cornered him and grinned, Jorge looked sheepish and nodded. “It was. But I don’t know what happened. Is supposed to be truth serum.”

“Well I think we agree Scott didn’t steal the dog?”

Jorge smirked and nodded. “Yeah…”

“So call Aleix and ask what-“

The Mallorcan was pulling out his phone as it started to ring. They looked down and read the _Aleix_ written on the screen, the Yamaha Factory rider answering it on speaker.

“Hola. Habla inglés. Cal está aquí conmigo.”

_“Ok. What happen in the press conference? Pol is crying.”_

The two older men looked at each other and winced. _Fuck._ “He say Redding steal Pippa, and you have penalties…”

_“Fuck. Ok…is what I tell him before he go in. But was a joke to make him wake up.”_

_Shiiiiit._ Jorge looked at Cal as Cal looked back. “Oh. Well it will be ok, I think. Just say he was ill or he have food poisoning or something…” _Close enough to the truth…?_

_“Ok. I will try and sort everything. Thank you. See you later.”_

_Don’t thank me._ Jorge said his goodbye and put the phone back in his pocket, biting his lip and looking at the Englishman, torn between horrible guilt and laughing. Cal seemed the same.

“So…truth serum. That makes you tell the truth. And that also makes you believe everything you hear is true, apparently.”

The Mallorcan nodded and winced. “Yeah…”

“That was evil.” 

“It was…”

They stared at each other for a second longer before guiltily breaking out into giggles, taking a few seconds to get it out their system before Jorge spoke again. 

“Never, _EVER_ tell him it was me.”

Cal mimed zipped his mouth shut and shook his head as they both started to walk away. “Never.”

They rounded the corner and went through the door, oblivious to the lurking Repsol Honda rider who had overheard that.

Marc grinned, the same battle in between laughing and guilt as he’d heard in their voices, and tried to stifle the Disney villain he could see reflecting back at him in the window opposite.

_That could be useful._


	8. Jenson/Ron - "History Repeating Itself"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was like therapy to write ;) but it's maybe a bit harsh. I do like Ron, but...but...
> 
> See what you think? ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading and everything! Hope you enjoy :)

His tea had tasted strange, that much was true. But other than that, there was nothing he could think of that would be responsible for the current state of affairs; the current state of affairs being inexplicable honesty. Which would be fine around 99.9% of the paddock. But not around Ron. Not since he came back.

Whitmarsh had always been fair. Jenson could see why they’d ended up where they had, but he thought his replacement wasn’t much better at the job, and was certainly not better to be around. JB still called Martin after each race and had the same conversation they used to have, going through it and then leading on to talking about more. It’s just that now, there was no skew of authority in favour of the older Englishman. That was back with the even older Englishman.

He had to go to the MTC, because they were filming outside with the P1. Kevin would be there, and that was ok. Kevin was a nice kid, pretty good but not the Lewis everyone had started to claim he was, and he had fitted in well with the team. Too well with the Boss.

_History repeating itself._

“Morning.” He greeted the receptionist and gave her his best smile before walking through the history to find the others, finding them sharing a drink before the day’s activities got under way. Jenson could feel his brain start to write the little speech that had been going round his head in bits and pieces, could feel his mouth getting ready to make it a reality. And he wanted to, today. He wanted to say it, and he wanted to say it in front of everyone.

“Good morning.” Ron nodded curtly at him and walked past him into the room, walking up to Kevin and smiling warmly, hand on his back.

_History repeating itself._

“Do I not get a smile?”

The older man turned to stare, not expecting that reaction. “What?”

“A smile. I’m just the guy you nod at, now?”

He tried to form a convincing smile and Jenson had to stifle a laugh. 

“Don’t bother. It’s fine. Just history repeating itself.” He could see Boullier eyeballing him from across the room, the topic of conversation known, unpleasant and predictable to him. 

“What?”

“McLaren, you…history. Just repeating itself. Prost, Senna, Mika, DC, Lewis, Fernando…you always have a favourite.”

Ron just stared. “What are you talking about?”

“I can feel it. The difference, since Martin left. The difference in the team. The difference in the debriefs. The radio messages. It’s not 50/50 anymore. But it won’t affect me, not like it did them.”

“Did you get out the wrong side of bed this morning?”

Jenson laughed and shook his head. “No, I always get out the right side of bed. Maybe that’s why this feels more unfair than it could have done. But I’m ok with playing any odds, like Canada 2011. Whatever they are, you’ve just got to keep going. And I will. And maybe I’ll be the one to finally break this stupid cycle that keeps happening here. You have two drivers and you always have had two drivers. So, some of them deserved that bit extra from the team – James Hunt. Even Prost, before Niki retired again. But Mika, DC…Prost and Senna…and Lewis and Fernando: some are inseparable, given the right commitment from the team. But that seems too difficult for you, for some reason. I’m a good racing driver, and I’m definitely as good as him,” he pointed at Kevin, slightly apologetically, and shrugged. “But he’s new, so he’s exciting. Doesn’t matter how much more difficult it is to develop a whole new car with a rookie, does it? It just matters that you like him. And _he was your choice_.”

Ron was still just stood there, staring, not really sure what to say; a rare moment. He eventually found some words and his face darkened. “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation to have at the moment.”

“Neither do I. But today I don’t care. I want everyone in this room to hear what I’m saying to you, and I want everyone to know that you’re not going to beat me. Because you’re a damn good team leader, but you’re not that different. You climbed a hard ladder? So did I. And unlike you, I didn’t throw away the best thing on the grid – twice in a row.”

Giving up on not talking it through, the older man put down his tea and squared his shoulders slightly. “Oh? What’s that?”

“There’s a good reason why it says ‘Kimi Raikkonen’ next to 2007 on the trophy, Ron. A reason you made. Maybe it worked out well for me – although looking at Mercedes now maybe that would have worked out well too. But you threw away Fernando Alonso – one of the best of all time – because you liked Lewis more. And I can see why, too. Lewis was a rookie and he was easy to deal with. And he’s an incredible driver. But the thing is, it’s not that difficult to have two competitive drivers, even going for the championship. _They_ don’t have to be friends. But you don’t have to choose one, either.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” The tone was starting to darken.

“I’m just telling the truth. You make them come here and cut their hair and fit in with your vision, under the promise of a shot at the title. And they had it, yeah. But you got in the way. And 2012, well…that was a surprise, in a way, but it proved what I always thought – you don’t like anybody forever. You don’t even like them enough to let them be themselves and pay what they’re worth.”

“You mean Lewis.”

“I mean Lewis.” Jenson nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Because we had our ups and downs, but he’s a good guy, and a better driver. And he’s the one you should have begged, borrowed and stolen to keep. What I can feel, he can’t, and vice versa. So we made a good team. And now we have Ron’s Favourite and The Guy Who Should Retire Soon, in a car that proved the biggest change in regulations since Senna left. A challenge we can’t really do much with until both of us know how it _should_ actually feel.”

Ron was listening to the words, intently and calmly but very unhappily, and then locked eyes with his driver. “I didn’t realise you’d let all those stories go to your head.”

“They’re not stories.” Jenson smiled and shrugged at him. “I’m finding that out.”

“So where does this leave us?”

“Same place it did before. I’ll keep driving, you’ll keep smiling at Kevin. You’ll have fun running after Fernando, making a new set of empty promises, and then you’ll realise he’ll never come back here. And you’ll re-sign me. And I’ll be the same. And if you give me a car, I’ll win you races. If you give me a great car, I might win you a Championship. And I’ll give it everything I have, prove you wrong, and nobody will be any the wiser.”

“What makes you think we’ll re-sign you?”

“I don’t see any other championship winners queuing up. And you will _never_ get Fernando.”

“Really.” The deadpan, smug tone made Jenson clench his teeth slightly.

“Really. He wants to win championships, but he won’t come back here. Not for the all money in the world. Believe me, _I know_.”

Ron opened his mouth to reply before someone popped their head around the door to summon them. The older man paused and watched some onlookers start to file out, no one really sure what to say, before he took a few steps towards his driver and looked at him, only a few of them left in the room. Kevin was staring between them, somewhere between proud, confused and offended as his boss replied.

“I wouldn’t bet your career on that.”

Jenson smiled at him and shrugged, trying to keep the mood as light as possible, wanting to tell the truth but not be too unkind, mirroring his attempt at a menacing lean. 

“You know, I could say _exactly_ the same thing to _you_.”


	9. Dan/JEV - "Hungover Back-Garden Salsa"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT!!!
> 
> b) 54 Kudos! Shoutout to Mattia Pasini! ;) And...this blows my mind a bit..THANK YOU! Hope you like this, too!
> 
> c) JEV and D-Ric were lovely on stage at Silverstone. JEV has not left my brain...so here we are :D First time I've ever gone near ANYTHING involving them, so I hope it's ok!
> 
> d) It's an AU where they both live in Perth. JEV moved to Australia for some reason, lives with Dan...they work in a bar together...something like that, anyway. 
> 
> e) ENJOY! 
> 
> <3

“Morning!” Daniel walked out into the garden, beaming as usual, and sat himself down at the table. “Sleep ok?”

Jean-Eric glowered at him across the table, in severe pain from an incoming hangover, like a French Bradley Cooper with his hair in several directions and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, aviators slightly too far down his nose, shirt too open even for attempting hungover back-garden salsa. “I didn’t sleep.” The combination of accent and talking through Gauloise didn’t help the overall image, and the words were garbled. “I’m going to bed, soon.”

“What?!” Dan had had 8 hours of sleep, copious amounts of mineral water, a glass of orange juice and a healthy breakfast, all after his 630am morning run and shower. He was looking at the sky above their patio in wonder, rather than horror. “Are you serious?!”

“I’m serious.” The Frenchman peered over his sunglasses and made eye contact for the first time, not helping his friend out on convincing him he was ok. “You only live once.”

“You do. For 30 years only, if you don’t stop. I thought you’d turned a page or whatever?”

“I thought this too. But I think I maybe had a rewind…”

“Relapse.”

“I mean ‘Rewind’, I like the word.”

“But ‘relapse’ is the right word.”

“Don’t correct my English when I do something creative.” He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and looked over the glasses down his nose once more. “I know this word, ‘relapse’, but I like the ‘rewind’.”

“Ok. Fine. I give up.” The Australian got to his feet and shrugged at him, smile almost gone, walking back towards the house. “I’ll see you later if you’re awake, I’m going to work. I guess you’re calling in sick?”

“Ah.” The Frenchman half laughed, half sighed and shook his head. “No. I got fired.”

“WHAT?!” He stopped and swirled round.

“Yeahhhh…” JEV stubbed out what was left of the filter and shrugged before lighting a new one, purposefully blowing a cloud of smoke towards his friend. “I know. Alex found out about my, er…adventure in the store room.”

“WHAT?!” 

Once the words had left his mouth, he’d realised that Daniel didn’t know that either. _Fuck fuck fuck._ “I, er…met somebody. In the bar, working…and we er…fucked in the store room. They ‘ave CCTV. You know they ‘ave CCTV?”

The Australian’s face was now some sort of mixture involving horror, resignation, disappointment and…jealousy? “I didn’t know that, no.” Sigh. “You had sex with a girl in the store room of the bar.”

“Not exactly.” Eyes over the glasses again, a wink. “Although I think he would like you to think this.”

_WHAT._ The Australian was concreted to the floor, staring. “WHAT?!”

“Yeah. Is no big deal. I was on top, anyway.” Cigarette stubbed out, another started. Glass of previously unnoticed whiskey slammed back. “So is almost the same.”

_OH MY GOD._ Dan took a deep breath and tried to be helpful, rather than anything else. “Ok, I don’t know what’s going on with you. Seriously. You were doing so well, man. What happened? Hmm? What made you go all crazy again?” _Or is sleeping with a guy normal? How did we never discuss this?! Why are you telling me now? Do you know? Why I care so much about seeing you like this? Why telling me you slept with a guy is a big deal?_

There were a few seconds of silence before JEV shrugged and brushed some errant ash off his jeans. “I am tired of waiting.”

_Waiting?_ “Waiting?”

“Waiting.” 

“What are you waiting for?”

“Well I can’t have what I want. So I’ll have the second things I want. ALL OF THEM!” He raised the glass and goofy grinned behind the Gauloise. “SALUT!”

_I can’t have what I want._ “Why can’t you have what you want?” _What do you want?_

“Because it doesn’t want _me_.”

_Could he poss-No. No no no. Just play the game, go through the conversation. He’ll bitch and moan and get drunk for a few days, then he’ll go back to before. Running, salad and water._ “What doesn’t?” _Maybe._

“The thing I want. I can’t just take it. It has to want me too.” He looked over the glasses again, Daniel wanted to believe, in an extremely pointed way. “Because it’s a person.”

_No._ The Aussie tried to ignore the flame of hope that had started to ignite in his stomach. _No way._ “Right. So who is it?”

His friend stared at him for a few seconds before starting to smile, putting down his glass after he’d emptied it, taking a last drag on the cigarette and stubbing it out, getting to his feet…all slow and measured, all part of a show or act that seemed to have been considered.

“You really want me to tell you?” Jean-Eric started walking slowly towards him, sideways smile still on his face. “You might not like it.”

_I won’t if you don’t say me._ “Yeah. I want you to tell me. Who you care about so much that you’ve gone crazy again.”

The Frenchman was now stood right in front of him. He stopped, a little too close, and pulled his sunglasses down his nose slightly so he had eye contact. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, seemingly subconsciously, and he raised an eyebrow. “This guy. He drives me crazy. Because you’re right. I go crazy.”

_HE. HOLY FUCK. HE._ Dan gulped and wondered how red his face was. _HE._

JEV smiled again, enjoying how uncomfortable his friend seemed to be getting at how close they were, before he leant forward slightly with his right arm and grabbed his housemate straight in the crotch. Not to cause pain. Most definitely to cause pleasure. He hovered his lips close to his friend’s ear and spoke, softer than before. “ _You_ make me go crazy.”

The Australian’s breath was sharper and quicker, coming out in little gasps, catching in his throat, and his eyes were shut. His mind, for the first time ever in the company of the man he’d wanted since the day he’d stepped off the plane, was blank. All he could focus on was the feeling of the fingers starting to _move_.

“ _You_ make me crazy. And last night, I took some stuff. I’m not proud of it. But it makes you tell the truth.”

No reaction for a few seconds, so the Frenchman moved his hand again. A slight moan left Daniel’s mouth.

“You like that?”

A nod.

“Well maybe…” Jean-Eric moved himself closer, all of him, and gently pressed his lips against his housemate’s, for a split second. “Maybe we can both go to bed now.”

Another nod.

“You want that? You want me to really go crazy?”

Dan still didn’t react for a few seconds, before suddenly his eyes snapped open and locked on the Frenchman’s, hand moving round to his back to yank him across the last few inches of space between them, before he took the initiative further and pressed their lips together. They were suddenly a flurry of tongues, hands and breath.

“I want you.”

_Truth serum. The best decision I ever made._ "You can 'ave me." JEV smiled into the kiss, feeling his skin shiver as hands moved under the fabric of his shirt, and pushed them back towards the house. _Except for getting on that plane._


	10. Jenson/Seb - "Just For Fun"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, sorry. I've been in Marc Marquez-ville (it's very pretty there ;))
> 
> Also made a tumblr account: 994527, anyone from here finding me would be a joy... :D
> 
> Thank you as always, and bit of a fluff warning...as not always. <3

_“Helloooo!”_

Jenson sighed and rolled over the bed, away from Jessica, hoping she wouldn’t hear it. _Drunk Germans. Again._ “Hello. It’s 4am here!”

_“Shit, SORRY! Haha. Well it’s not 4am here! How’s your break going?”_

“Good, thanks.” _I shouldn’t have answered._ “How about you?” _Just some casual 4am chat, in bed with my girlfriend. On the phone to him._

_“Good, thanks! But…I miss you.”_

“You’re drunk.”

_“I’m pretty drunk.”_

_You’re always pretty._ “So…why are you waking me up in the middle of the night?”

 _“Because I wanted to tell you that I miss you. And also…we’re…”_ The voice carried on, further away and obviously asking the question of someone else on the other end of the line. _“where are we? Asia. I remember Asia….” “Kuala Lumpur.” “Ah ok.”_ The voice got closer, talking to the Brit once again. _“We’re in Kuala Lumpur for an event and we bought some really fun stuff from a market…”_

 _Oh, Jesus._ “Rigghttt…what kind of, er…stuff?” Jenson stole a look at the body to his left and felt some of the guilt start to melt away. _She’s asleep. And he misses me._

_“Truth serum. So we took it! And we are telling the truth! Dan LOVES Demi Lovato! Haha!”_

“Urgh! Well I guess there are worse things to admit…”

_“Why are you whispering?”_

“Why are you yelling?!”

_“Because I’m happppy! I’m talking to you from a beautiful city with a beautiful view and I wish you were here!”_

“Well…” Another look over at Jessica. “I wish I was there, too.”

 _“You could be.”_ Suddenly more serious. _“You could get on a plane.”_

“I can’t.”

_“You can, but you won’t. But that’s ok. I’m used to it.”_

“Ouch.”

_“Telling the truth, I can’t help it. I love you.”_

Jenson took a deep breath and snapped his eyes back onto the sleeping figure next to him as she moved slightly and then settled back into calm, not able to process _those words._ “Don’t do this now.”

_“I love you. I love you. I love you. I don’t care about the game anymore. I love you and I’m going to tell you because it’s TRUE. So if you want to say it back to me, ever…you’re going to have to get on a plane. BYE!”_

The McLaren driver sighed as the phone went dead, relaxing back into the pillow as he put the phone on the bedside table and stared at the ceiling.

_I said I was waiting for something._

_Did I mean I was waiting for him to get bored with me, or to say that?_

He sighed and snaked his arm gently around his girlfriend, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head as she unconsciously wrapped around him, brain flashing through each part of the problem.

_“Just for fun.”_

_“Just fun. Nothing serious.”_

_But it got serious, because we started to feel…_

He closed his eyes, took one last deep breath, and pulled himself gently out of the bed, picking up his phone on the way out the room and looking back one more time.

_If that was him, would I be about to do this?_

No.

*

 _HANGOVER. FUCK. BIG HANGOVER._ He moved, instinct forcing him upright before regretting that and melting back down, vaguely aware of the Australian far away on the other side of the bed. _Truth serum. FUCK._

He spent a few minutes going through the details of the night he could remember, laughing at some things and wincing at others, before he got to the part of the truth he’d never intended to tell. _Fuck._

Getting up was easier than he’d imagined, and Dan started to groan as the bed moved, that reminding the German of the Australian’s admissions and making him laugh again before he picked up the phone, intending to try and start putting it right. _Just for fun. Yeah, right. You’re lucky the Australian is straight. Or that’s what I know you’ll think. But you won’t admit it._ He dialled the number slowly, forcing his brain to concentrate, before he looked up as there was a knock on the door. _Go away._ Another noise joined in the ambient sound, vaguely familiar, but the Brit didn’t answer and the door went again, interrupting the ringtone.

“GO AWAY! HANGOVER!”

Another knock.

 _Fucking hell. Right, fine. I’m coming._ “Ok, I’m coming!”

Sebastian dragged himself over to the door, looking down to see himself only in boxers but too annoyed care, and pressed his eye to the peep hole to see who it was. 

_Nobody there._

There was another knock on the door, from somewhere stage left, and the German instinctively jumped slightly at the shock.

 _Don’t want to play this game. Go away._ He sighed and put his hand on the handle, checking Dan was hidden from view, and checked once more to see if anyone had appeared. _Fine, you win._

He pulled it open, expecting someone from Red Bull to throw a bucket of water at him, or something equally terrible, before a figure stepped out from behind the doorframe and grinned. Seb felt his breath catch in his throat, complaint dying before it made it into fresh air.

_Oh my God._

“Hi…”


	11. Vale/Dani/Marc - "Wakey Wakey"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to.
> 
> Just had to. 
> 
> <3

“You shouldn’t have drunk it.”

“Maybe not.” The Italian Yamaha rider shrugged happily and grinned. “But it feels gooood. And I am telling you the truth. When we left, I would not have told you that that shirt is disgusting, for example.”

“Great…” Uccio looked down self-consciously and then back up at his friend. “I’m so glad you did.”

“You’re welcome. Now. We have some business to attend to.”

Alarm bells started ringing loud in Uccio’s ears. _Oh dear._ “We do?”

“We do. We need to tell some people the cold, hard truth. Some people who seem like they want to avoid that cold, hard truth instead of fucking each other senseless.” Now half way down the hotel corridor, slightly wobbly but mostly upright, Vale stopped outside the door he was aiming for.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Correct. This is Marc’s room.” He pivoted 270 then reversed 90 to point at the door opposite. “That is Dani’s room.”

 _Oh God._ “Hmm.”

“Hmmm? It’s time someone knocked their heads together and they got on with it. IN FACT!” He yelled that, looked around sheepishly, then scuttled off down the corridor with a surprisingly agile burst of pace. Uccio remained planted, whisper shouting after him, head in hands. _This will not end well._ The rider returned 46 seconds later brandishing a packet of condoms. _Oh God._ “These will help.”

“I’m not sure this constitutes _helping_ …”

Vale gave him a look that signalled he was being an utter tool. “Really.”

“Really.”

“We’ll see.” His blue eyes sparkled with even more mischief than normal. “Right, can I reach both doors from here?” He stood equidistant between them and smiled, satisfied. “Right, ready?”

Uccio could do nothing but mutely nod. _I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry._ “Hmm.”

Valentino took that as ‘yes, this is a fantastic idea’ and suddenly banged on each door at the same time. From Marc’s, there was a muffled _hijo de puta_ , from Dani’s, silence.

“Wakey wakey…”

 _Oh God._ Uccio had forgotten about the point at which he actually had to face them. To their faces, in person. Face to face. _Oh God._

Vale banged again and the reaction from each room was much the same, except that this time, after a few seconds, each door opened a fraction, with mirrored groans. Valentino beamed at his friend and then wrenched them open, leaving the two Repsol Honda riders peering into the bright hallway, wearing boxers and swearing.

“You. What the fuck are you doing.” Dani spoke first, more eloquent in his annoyance. “Fuck off.” _Maybe not._

“I need to talk to you. It’s time someone just _banged_ your heads together and sorted this out.”

“What are you talking about?” Marc rubbed his eyes and yawned, puzzled and irritated but nowhere near the silently raving lunacy levels of anger on Dani’s face.

“I am here to tell you the truth.” Vale folded his arms and looked between them. “The truth is this: you either want to fuck each other, or you actually love each other. And also want to fuck each other. Either way, you should fuck each other. Starting today.”

The dead silence following the speech was broken only by a quiet, shocked whine coming from the older of the two Repsol riders, like a slowly deflating balloon. Nobody moved.

“So…I brought you these.” The Yamaha rider threw the contents of the packet of condoms half each way, some hitting Marc on the face, Dani instinctively cupping himself against the onslaught, and then folded his arms again, satisfied. “So I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun.”

Uccio followed him off stage right, brighter red than he thought he’d ever been in his entire life, and prayed neither of the younger men would react whilst they were still there. They didn’t.

They stayed there, staring at each other and then at the condoms on the floor and then at each other again, for about 10 seconds, both bright red, before Marc spoke first.

“What.”

It wasn’t really a question, more a reaction, but Dani answered anyway. “I don’t know.”

“I mean…” _I agree._ “…what.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t say you don’t know, do something!”

“FINE!” Dani bent down and started picking up the various coloured packets, throwing them over his shoulder into his room so they were at least not in the corridor anymore.

“You’re taking them?”

“Where else should I put them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do something about yours.”

“They’re not mine.”

“You know what I mean.”

Marc huffed and did the same, wondering why the older rider hadn’t _reacted_ to the actual _words. ___

“That was weird.”

Cough. “Yeah. Weird.”

Back to staring.

“I mean…why does he think that?”

Marc laughed all too nervously and shrugged, back to an even brighter shade of red than before. “I don’t know!”

Dani noticed this and his face went the same. “Me neither.”

“So…right. So…I’ll just, go back to sleep then.”

“Yeah, ok.” Cough. “Me too.”

“I like your boxers.” Marc’s eyes widened and a hand instinctively went up to his mouth. _WHY DID I SAY THAT?_

 _OH MY GOD._ “Th-thanks…”

“You’re well endow-WELCOME!” _OH MY GOD. JUST STOP. WALK AWAY._ “OK SO NIGHT THEN!” Marc retreated inside like a turtle into a shell and slammed the door, leaning against the back of it and trying to get his breath back. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ After 2 or 3 minutes, he’d recovered enough oxygen to make it back to the bed, and lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to stay in between laughing and crying rather than falling into one. He was almost starting to calm down before he thought he heard something.

 _What was that._ He cocked his head and listened intently, pretty sure he was going insane. _OR NOT. Someone at the door. Someone at my door. Someone at my door RIGHT NOW._ He took a deep breath and walked back over to it, trying to convince himself it was going to be Valentino coming back to create another fuck up, before he leant forward and looked through the peep hole.

_Dani._

The oxygen ran away again as he leant his forehead against the back of the door. _Holy fuck._ Then the knocking came again and made him jump a few feet in the air before he decided enough was enough and gathered enough bravery to open the door.

“Hi…”

“Hi. You’re not asleep yet.” 

“No. Too…” Marc waved his hands in the absence of the correct word, suddenly aware that his boxers might be giving something away. _Excited._

They stared at each other again for a few seconds before the older one shrugged and smiled, glancing off down the corridor as though it was fascinating.

“Ok. So…your room, or mine?”


	12. Fernando/Marc - "Mojito"

_Be cool about it. 2 time world champion, right? So technically I’m actually a 3 time…_ The thought dies in his brain as the hand grasps his. _I’m nothing. I exist to worship you._ “N-nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

 _THE EYES._ He’s almost worried he’s done an Assen-style swimming motion as they drown him. _GO TO YAMAHA, YOU MONSTER._ “S-so you like bikes?” _Oh, cool question, 15 year old me._

“Yeah, love them. And it’s great to see us ruling!”

 _Us. I know you don’t mean us but…us._ “Jeje thanks! Yeah it’s been a great year so far…”

“I can see that. Very impressive. Not tempted to swap?”

“Are you?” _No one would notice me in a Ferrari anyway if my face stays this red. I’ll just be invisible. IMPRESSIVE?_

“Ha, no! It’s amazing what you guys do. How are you feeling about the race?”

“G-good. You?” _Fuck._ “I mean…the season.”

“That’s good. And please let’s not talk about F1? I’m here to escape…” And he actually winks at him.

“O-ok. Jaja. Sorry! Well I think Lorenzo will be hard to beat.”

“Me too. Up to the job?”

“I’ll try.”

And then they’re saying goodbye, and he’s gone, and Marc is left staring after him, hoping he hasn’t actually drooled on himself.

*

“Tastes funny.”

Alex takes a sip of his own and shakes his head. “Just different rum.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

Nope.

*

“Hellooooo.”

“Hi.” The older Spaniard turns to him, smirking nicely at the drunken state of him, and raises his eyebrows. “Celebrating?”

Marc hiccups slightly, to his shame, and then nods as he cringes through the laugh. “Yup. Nice restaurant. Nice bathroom.” _How about a sentence._

“Hmm, it is.”

“It is. You’re nice too.”

Fernando stares back for a second before seeming to judge the tone correctly and absentmindedly licking his lips. “Am I?”

“LOOK AT YOU.” The younger man moves towards him slightly, backing him up against the sink, and nods. “Sooo niceeeee.”

“Nice.”

“Nice. And _hot!_ ”

 _Jesus Christ._ “Hot.” _I should definitely walk away._

“Hmm.” Marc nods and starts to smile at the evil twinkle he can see echoing back at him. “Hot.”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” The older man traces a line down a taught, shivering forearm and then locks their eyes together again. “Have you looked in the mirror?”

 _Oooh._ He feels himself blush and then nods. “But it’s more fun to look at Fernando.”

“Is it.”

“Yessss.” He takes another step forward until they’re properly face to face. “Always fun to look at Fernando. Look! But don’t touch.”

“You want to touch.”

“I want to do everythingggg.” Another little hiccup. “I want you to fuck me right now. Please.”

 _Holy shit. I would very much enjoy that._ “Marc?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you pick up racing drivers in public restrooms often?”

The younger man giggles and shakes his head, going red. “Never! Is that what I’m doing?”

“Depends how drunk you are.”

“Not too drunk.”

“Not too drunk…” Fernando muses on it for a second before leaning in to press their lips together, testing the reaction, starting to worry before Marc’s mouth opens to let him in and the taste of the recently demolished mojito blends into the whiskey on his own tongue, both staggering back slightly to steady themselves against the sink and moaning into it as their crotches come into contact before Fernando pulls away and leaves him panting in the middle of the room, hair now tousled and dishevelled and cheeks flushed. _Don’t panic._ He smiles at the worried look and then slams the bolt across the door. “Good. Take off your clothes.”

Marc stares at him for a minute, unsure and maybe less drunk more _something else_ , before he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt and throws it onto the counter under the mirror, jeans off soon after, then shoes and socks, until he’s stood there nervously quivering in his boxers, far too much about how turned on he is given away by the thin fabric. 

“Wow.” The Ferrari driver’s eyes burn over him as he takes it in. “And I see you agree.”

The Honda rider blushes, knowing that’s all too true and wishing, maybe slightly, he was female and his desperation was less obvious. _But then I’d probably be standing in a puddle._ “Hmm.” He shivers nervously again as the F1 driver walks over and then around him, stopping behind him and pressing his lips to his ear. “But I said takes off your clothes. _All of them._ ” And then his arm reaches round and forces it’s way under the fabric of his boxers, wrapping around him and making Marc groan and quake on the spot. “Can you do that for me?”

“Hmm.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Y-yesss…” He groans again and bites down hard on his lips as his compatriots fingers start to move, enough to tease, and then pull away. He pulls off the boxers.

“Better.”

“Please.”

“Please?”

“Please now. Please…”

“Shh, we’ll get there.” He walks back around to find dark, burning eyes locking on his, cheeks flushed even deeper, lips being licked. “Do you want me to take off my clothes?”

“Y-yes.”

“Go on then.” He smiles and takes one of Marc’s hands to place it on the top button that’s fastened. “Feel free.”

It doesn’t take him very long, nothing gets ripped, and soon he’s stood there staring at his naked four-wheeled-machine driving hero, and then moaning into another kiss as he’s pushed up against the wall and the friction makes him buck his hips against him, taste of blood slowly taking over from mojito in their mouths until he’s panting over his shoulder and groaning as the kiss grazes down his neck. “Fuck.”

“Hmm?”

“Fuck. Please fuck me. Please. PLEASE.”

“Patience.”

“NO.”

The older Spaniard just chuckles at that slightly, nodding against his skin and nipping him for good measure, manhandling him back towards the sinks before they lock eyes with each other in the mirror. “Done this before?”

“Once or twice. But don’t be gentle.”

“Ok.” The Ferrari driver runs his fingers down his side and then grazes over his cock before his other hand is pushing the center of Marc’s back, message received loud and clear as he bends over, eyes closing and fingers trying to find a grip on the cool marble as he feels the first drip of handwash traced along his crack, finger teasing his hole and then pushing inside, making him hiss and squirm, burn there but not too bad, but knowing it will get worse and proved right as there’s another, then another, working him open with the kind of urgency that fucking a fellow world champion in a restaurant bathroom calls for, and then squeezing his eyes tight shut as his _don’t be gentle_ suddenly seems arrogant and stupid, pain searing through him as the Ferrari driver lines himself up starts to push, burying himself and bottoming out in one thrust as his fingertips bruise the younger man’s hips digging in. Marc wails into the sink, fingers scratching the marble useless, and squeezes his eyes shut to try and make himself relax and wish it away, grateful he’s not moving yet before that thought is stolen as Fernando slowly starts to pull back out, giving him time but not too much, and then does it again, the wail this time accompanied by an after-growl as he hits his prostate and the younger rider bucks against him, trying to get more and push him off at the same time, pain and pleasure toiling with each other as he whimpers through the next, and the next, before he's braced properly against the marble and throwing his head back as it gets faster, pleasure winning now, hand grabbing his head roughly to hold him steady as the Ferrari driver grunts at him and slams them towards the mirror, finding the spot again more often than not and skin tingling at the noises spilling from the younger man’s mouth. Marc whining and wailing back at him is almost loud enough to drown out the noise of skin on skin and makes him briefly worry about the noise for the other diners, before they lock eyes and a trickle of blood leaves the corner of Marc’s mouth, lip bitten too hard, sight irresistibly delicious, and the thought escapes in a flurry of expletives as he reaches round to tug his cock and pull him over the edge, feeling him tense and then spasm as the orgasm wracks through him with a growl. Marc comes over his hand and into the sink, collapsing with a guttural groan, panting into the basin, staring at the evidence, before he winces through the last few rough thrusts as Fernando presses them together and finishes himself off, biting into his shoulder to muffle the noise as he comes and leans on top of him to support himself, breath hot enough to almost condense against the cool skin of the younger man's back.

They stay like that for a minute, both trying to get their breath back and shivering through the aftershock, before Marc whimpers again as the Ferrari driver pulls out and moves off him, grabbing some paper towels and cleaning himself off, watching the muscles in the Honda rider’s arms flex as he pushes himself upright and then leans back down, breath still ragged, evidence of what they’ve just done in the scratches carved into his hips and the bead of come that trails its way from his crack.

“Ok?”

Marc’s eyes snap back up to meet his as his tongue flicks out over his bitten lip, chest still heaving. “You should definitely visit more often.”


End file.
